


preference

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Banter, Body Dysphoria, Established Relationship, Gender or Sex Swap, Hell, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Post-Canon, Snakes, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: “You’re a demon. Why does it matter? You’re genderless. Sexless.”“I have a preferenccce."





	preference

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: this work discusses body dysphoria a lot

Crowley died on a cool spring day in early April.

 _Inconveniently discorporated,_ Aziraphale would have corrected him. He’s also probably going to have a thing or two to say about Crowley’s driving habits when he gets back up there.

If he gets back up there.

The thought made Crowley’s skin crawl. Hah. More than it already was crawling, that is, being back in the workplace. He smoked a cigarette outside the gates, trying to calm himself down; it didn’t do much. He flicked the butt onto the ground angrily, where it was immediately incinerated. Crowley didn’t pay any attention to it as he made his way inside.

“I need a new body,” Crowley said sternly, trying to front the cool and confident persona. It didn’t work on the demon sitting at the desk in front of him, who looked him up and down noncommittally and unimpressed.

She swiveled around and opened up a filing cabinet; never a good thing to see. She pulled out an enormous stack of papers and Crowley groaned. They really ought to keep the methods of torture separate from the system they actually use down here.

She dropped the papers down on the desk and picked up a pen, flipping open another stack and settling on what looked like a random spot. It probably was. “Your name?”

“Crowley,” he said, leaning against the desk. “Anthony, James.”

She gave him a bored, blank look.

Crowley huffed. “Crawley.”

“Oh, you’re _Crawley,”_ she said; recognition dawned, but she didn’t look anymore impressed. “Serpent in the garden, Crawley?”

“Sure,” Crowley said, annoyed. “Whatever. Although I go by—”

“Deliverer of the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of—?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Crowley said flippantly. “You don’t have to go through the whole spiel. His name is Adam. And mine is Crowley. Had it changed.”

“But you are that Crawley?”

“Are there many others?”

“Crawley, the guy who just cost us the War?” she peered at him. “You’re _that_ Crawley?”

Crowley swallowed nervously. “There were lots of people involved in that. Hard to say.”

She made a funny little expression that was somehow stern and bored at the same time. “I see.”

Crowley tapped on the desk a few times. “So do you have a pen?”

“A pen?”

“Yeah. A pen I could borrow.”

“What for?”

“The paperwork.”

“What paperwork?”

“ _That_ paperwork,” Crowley pointed, annoyed, to the stack she’d just set on the desk.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, and reached over and swept it off the desk into a trash can that hadn’t been there a moment before. “That’s not for you.”

He blinked, startled and a little panicked. “You just said it was.”

“I never said anything,” she said. “You’re not getting a new body.”

Panic seized Crowley, clutching his heart in a death grip. “Why not?”

“You cost us the _War,”_ she said incredulously. “Our Lord wouldn’t let you back up there for all the souls in the world.”

Crowley swallowed. “He said that himself?”

She shrugged. Crowley continued, nervous, trying and failing not to let it show. “But I have work to do. On Earth.”

“What work?” she asked, disbelieving, and, well, what was Crowley supposed to tell her? That he hasn’t exactly been spending the past few years tempting anyone except a certain angel? That his work to do on Earth involves packing up a bookshop and an apartment and moving everything to South Downs? That he needs to get back up there because there’s a certain angel he’d rather like to be kissing instead of dealing with this shit?

He took an unnecessary breath to calm himself; she looked at him strangely. “Look,” he said, keeping his voice steady in a real feat. “I have _things_ I need to be doing up there.”

“Things like _what_?” she asked rudely.

 _Things like Aziraphale!_ Crowley thought to himself. But no, he couldn’t say that. “Things like tempting mortals and whatnot. Look, I’ve been up there a _long time._ I’m arguably the most knowledgeable demon when it comes to Earth and humans. Nobody knows how to tempt them better than me. I mean, I got Eve, didn’t I? And I didn’t even have any practice before her! I’m a valuable field agent. Just… give me the paperwork. I’ll fill it out to the T.”

“Why don’t I direct you to my supervisor?” the demon suggested, which is the worst possible thing to hear when you’re stuck in hell.

It takes Crowley _months._ For months all he does is bother supervisor after supervisor, hemming and hawing and griping and moaning until they send him off to bother someone else. The day Crowley got sent back down to that first demon’s desk, he wore a smile wide enough to put his fangs openly on display.

“Long time no see,” he said charismatically, leaning against the desk. “Do we need to go through all of this again? Or do you want to just hand me the paperwork and I can get that started for you? I’ll even get my own pen.”

She glowered at him. “Let me get you my supervisor.”

“I understand,” Crowley said, trying to mask his annoyance. “I’ll be back down to see you soon.”

And he was back down to see her soon; much quicker than the last time, he made it all the way around the circle of supervisors and back to her desk.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, grinning.

“Fuck off,” she snapped.

“I know the way to her office,” Crowley assured her.

“Paperwork?” he asked next time he got sent down to her. She pointed him down the hall angrily and he scoffed. “Oh, come on, you haven’t even let me get in a jibe!”

She slammed the paperwork down onto her desk angrily when he managed to make his way back down to her thrice in one day. “Just fucking take it!” she screamed. “It’s never gonna get processed! You’re wasting your fucking time!”

Crowley took the stack of papers cheerfully. “Wrath,” he commented. “Very nice! Glad I could inspire you.”

He drags his way through the paperwork bitterly, no longer enjoying the process now that there’s no one to openly annoy. He makes sure it’s pristine, though; one little mismark and the whole thing gets dumped out. Never used to be a big deal when he was flippantly filing paperwork from his flat in London, because he didn’t really _care_ how Hell kept track of him, but he wants his new body _now,_ and he’s going to fight tooth and nail for it.

He overshot at least four people, going straight to the desk he knew the papers would eventually end up on anyways. “Express delivery.”

The demon eyed the paperwork and sneered. “Body request?” he looked up at Crowley. “Crawley, you’re the only demon who still goes around filling these out. Really, we don’t need full time agents up there anymore. Humans are doing plenty on their own. Nobody _needs_ to tempt them.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to have someone up there who knows the ins and outs,” Crowley pointed out. “And I know humans better than anyone. I did tempt Eve, after all. Got us our first foothold and whatnot.”

The demon gave him a skeptical look. “Cost us the War, too.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, waving him off. “Was I there in Tadfield? Yes, I suppose I was. But I daresay I can’t remember a single thing about the specifics. Hard to say who really cost who what.”

“Hard to say who was really holding hands with the enemy out on the battlefield,” the demon said lowly.

Crowley grew very hot, which was saying something since it was already thousands of degrees. “Yes, I would say it’s very hard to say.”

The demon glowered at him, then pushed the paperwork back towards him. “I can’t process this,” he said defiantly. “Our Lord doesn’t want you back up there.”

“Oh, what for?” Crowley asked. “Did he say that himself?”

“Word of mouth,” the demon said starkly. “And you know damn well why you’re not allowed back up there.”

Crowley thought about the cottage in South Downs. He thought about sharing a bed with Aziraphale and holding him close in a home they’d share. He thought about how much time had already passed. He bit his lip and felt his fangs that he wouldn’t be able to force away until he had a proper body again.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on things,” Crowley insisted. “He lets Principalities run around up there, doesn’t that give Him an unfair advantage? We ought to level the playing field.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny,” he remarked. “What are we playing for, Crawley? Seeing as Armageddon came to pass and we’re still down here and they’re still up there.”

Crowley swallowed. “I just mean… as long as He’s still sending out field agents, shouldn’t we as well? I mean if we don’t, it makes it seem as though we’ve given up.”

The demon hesitated. “Well, we could get field agents,” he said sharply. “Field agents that aren’t _you._ You could do with a nice desk job for a few—”

“I think—!” Crowley exclaimed suddenly, trying to keep himself calm. He examined his options as quickly as he could. “I think I’m the best choice for the job. I did _deliver_ Adam properly, didn’t I? Who says I had anything to do with what went down at Tadfield?”

The demon squinted at him. “Who’s Adam?”

Crowley huffed. “Just send me back up there,” he said. “Can’t be that hard to get me a body. I get near the same one every time I’ve needed a new one.”

The demon pondered this. “Do you?”

“Sure,” Crowley said. “Tall. Dark,” he neglected to tack on _handsome,_ although he’d always very much thought he was. Good cheekbones and long legs and all that. “Nothing much to be done about the eyes, of course.”

The demon sat, pensive for a moment. “And you like this body?”

Crowley frowned, sensing this train of thought was going somewhere bad. “It’s a body,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“But you like it?” the demon pressed.

Crowley thought about it; yes, he supposed he did like it. He liked it a lot. He liked his long limbs, liked being tall. He liked his dark hair and his good cheekbones; he even liked his eyes, snakelike as they were, when they were set inside that pretty face of his. A vain thing to say, sure, but he _was_ a demon, after all.

And Aziraphale certainly seems to like it. He liked running his hands through Crowley’s hair, he liked looking up to Crowley even as he pinned him to the nearest surface. He liked his pretty face and he _loved_ his eyes; Aziraphale discarded Crowley’s sunglasses every moment they had alone, claimed his eyes always betrayed his adoration and that he always wanted to _see._

Crowley thought about how Aziraphale looked at him; so tender, so affectionate. Even when he was pinning him down to the bed, he was still looking at him like he was worth everything in the world. Maybe he was, considering how he had behaved on the battlefield. The thought made Crowley’s heart flutter; well, he didn’t have a heart at the moment, but it made _something_ inside him flutter.

He thought about Aziraphale pressing kisses to his cheek; his lips; his neck; his chest; his cock.

Yes, Crowley thought abruptly, pulling his head out of that train of thought as quickly as he could. Yes, his body was certainly favorable. At least it was to the two parties whose opinions mattered most.

“Why do you care if I like it?” Crowley asked sharply. “I just need a body. _Soon._ I have business I need to finish up.”

“What business?” the demon asked.

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “All kinds,” he said, thinking about South Downs. “I’m in the business of tempting. Anything and everything. And I’ve left some things unattended that I’d rather like to get back to, if you don’t mind.”

The demon smiled, and that wasn't comforting at all. Crowley tried not to wince. “What’s that look for?”

“Tell you what,” the demon said. “I’ll get you a body. But it won’t be yours.”

Crowley felt alight with nerves. “Oh, yeah?”

“Similar,” the demon promised. “I shouldn’t be issuing you one at all. But I think what I have in mind is a much more interesting form of punishment than keeping you idle down here. Less demons for you to annoy.”

Crowley nodded, endlessly nervous. “Generous of you,” he admitted, but the situation still felt dangerous. “When will—”

“Three to five business days,” the demon said dismissively, but that smile was still there. “Go bother someone else, Crawley.”

“Crowley.”

“Huh?”

“Crowley. S’my name.”

“Go bother someone _else,_ Crawley.”

The door to his office slammed open in three to five business days, just as he expected it to.

_“What is thisss?!”_

The demon didn’t even look up from his desk, but he couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face. “Human body.”

“I need a different one,” Crowley snapped, and he _hated_ it. His accent was still there, ruthlessly maintained, but this mouth was so foreign, even with his fangs slipped out and his tongue forked. And his voice, _fuck_ , Crowley hated the sound of it. Even pitched down as much as he could make it without sounding stupid, it was horrible.

The demon shook his head. “Picky, picky, Crawley.”

“I can’t _ussse_ thisss one!” Crowley insisted. “Have you lossst your mind?!”

“Lots of things getting lost these days,” the demon said. “Wars. Minds. Hard to keep track.”

“Get me a different one!” Crowley said angrily. The demon finally looked up, held eye contact with him for a long moment, and then he smiled.

“What’s wrong with that one?” he asked calmly, and Crowley wanted to jump over the desk and show him the real meaning of wrath.

“Look at me,” he said, holding his arms out; they were still long. He was still tall, how he always liked, but it was _wrong._

“What about you?” the demon asked. He was enjoying this.

“I can’t wear _thisss_.”

“Why not?”

“ _Becaussse_ ,” Crowley hissed angrily. “I… I’m a _man_.”

“You’re a demon,” he insisted. “Why does it matter? You’re genderless. Sexless.”

“ _I have a preferenccce,_ ” Crowley spat, and in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but think about how Aziraphale had a preference, too. There was a reason he chose to present as a gay man; the thought made Crowley sick to his stomach.

“I told you I’d issue you a different body,” the demon insisted. “This is similar enough, isn’t it? What, with those long legs and good cheekbones you like so much?”

Crowley blushed fiercely. _“It’sss not the sssame.”_

“Well it’s all you’re getting,” the demon snapped at him. “Discorporate yourself in that, and I’ll put you through just as much trouble getting the exact same one.”

Crowley was silent, so angry all he could do was stand there and shake with rage. The demon folded his hands and smiled wickedly at him again. “Besides, Crawley is androgynous, as names go.”

“ _That’sss not my name,_ ” Crowley growled.

“Oh, isn’t it?” the demon asked.

“My name isss _Crowley_ ,” Crowley hissed. “ _Anthony Jamesss Crowley_. I’m a _man_.”

“You’re a _demon_ ,” the demon repeated. “Now get out of my sight. If you want up there so bad, go. I’m sure your angel is waiting for you.”

Crowley turned on his heel and tried to outrun the fear that curled up in him at such an implication. He had a cigarette just outside the gates and then left for London.

Fall was setting in when Crowley returned to his flat; he was so angry. Aziraphale wanted to be in South Downs for the summer, and Crowley knew he wouldn’t have left without him. He wanted to see him now, more than anything in the world, but he didn’t want Aziraphale to see _him_.

His flat looked exactly how he left it, which filled him with relief, although the absence of the Bentley left something to be desired. Nevertheless, Crowley curled up angrily on his bed in nothing but socks and boxers, his wings unfurled as he pressed his face into his pillow and screamed into it. It was a high and shrill sound.

He slept fitfully through the night, and laid in bed for several hours after the sun came up, not willing to move. If he held still long enough, didn’t breathe and didn’t move and didn’t think, it felt like nothing had changed. It felt as though any moment Aziraphale was going to come in the room and crawl into bed with him, run a hand through his feathers, no doubt ruining them, but if Crowley’s wings are out around his angel they usually end up getting ruined anyways. He always straightens them out afterwards.

Crowley pressed his face into his pillow and whined. Then he dragged himself out of bed to check on his plants.

At least, he was _going_ to check on his plants, but he realized abruptly that none of them were there. He looked all around his flat, but they weren’t where he left them and they hadn’t been moved somewhere else throughout.

He was in the middle of being puzzled and disgruntled by this, when he shuffled back into his room and startled himself when he walked past his mirror. His wings were still out, which was probably what made the reflection so stark, because at a glance this body really _was_ similar to his old one. He was still tall and dark, but he was reluctant to admit the adjective _handsome_ didn’t really apply anymore.

At a glance, it wasn’t so bad, but before Crowley could stop himself, he was braced against the mirror, examining every minute detail about this body and hating every new thing he noticed. He _hated_ how the promise was really kept; it was too similar. He was still boney, hipbones and long fingers and good cheekbones, but it was _wrong_ . It was subtle and _wrong_ and every second he spent looking at himself made him want to sink straight back down to hell. He wanted to shatter his mirror and use the shards to destroy this body and go throw the biggest fit he could manage and get himself back.

He hit his fist against the mirror gently, mulling the idea over in his head. Finally, he raised an arm and went to do it, nearly unable to stand the thought of staying, but he stopped.

It was nearly October. Crowley crashed the Bentley in April. Aziraphale was going to be worried sick.

Crowley turned away from the mirror, pacing his room. He ought to just write Aziraphale something; tack it to the door of the bookshop and then do his best to get run over somewhere in Soho. Tell him he _is_ coming back, Hell is just being… difficult.

Crowley composed the note in his kitchen, still clad in only a pair of boxers and his socks, his wings still out. He didn’t have the energy to tuck them away; besides, it felt nice to stretch them.

The note read: _Angel, Hate to worry you. Hell is being… well, you know. Getting myself a new body has been proving to be a challenge. I intend to return as myself, though. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll meet you in South Downs. Signed, A.J. Crowley_

He looked over the note for a long moment, then reluctantly and embarrassedly added _I love you_ to the bottom of it and quickly folded it over so he didn’t have to look at it.

He tucked his wings away and miracled himself dressed; one of his old, vintage suits. His once over in the mirror before he left turned into another long moment of scrutinizing himself, but it wasn’t as bad when he was dressed. Still terrible, though.

He miracled a pair of sunglasses into his hands and tossed them on, tucking the note into his pocket as he left his flat. Still no Bentley, so he’d have to walk to Soho. At least it felt nice out.

Crowley would be embarrassed to admit he just about ran the last stretch to the bookshop when he spotted his car parked out front. He stopped in front of it, laying a hand affectionately on the hood. It looked pristine, aside from the thin layer of dust and dirt that had settled over it. Aziraphale probably hadn’t moved it since he’d gotten it there; he probably never drove it in the first place, simply miracled it better and in front of the shop in the dead of the night.

Crowley wiped some of the grim off of it, then recoiled in disgust at the feeling and simply blinked it away. He regarded the Bentley affectionately for a long moment, then sniffed and stepped up onto the sidewalk.

He took the note out of his pocket, pressed it to the door, and then spent a long time staring into the shop. He almost did it, left the note taped there and skittered off to find a distracted driver to throw himself in front of, but then he caught sight of his favorite fern sitting on the front desk inside the shop, and he all but melted.

The shop was closed, but the door opened for Crowley. It always opened for Crowley.

He drew the blinds behind him and wandered to the front desk as quietly as he could, looking over the plant sternly. “Somebody’s…” he started to say, but the quip about being watered too much fizzled and died on his tongue when he heard his voice. He flicked one of the ferns leafs and turns away from it.

A quick survey of the shop revealed that all his plants had been moved there, and Crowley struggled for a moment as a wave of affection washed over him. Aziraphale’s books were all boxed up, waiting patiently to be moved to their new home in South Downs.

The door to the back room was wide open. Crowley perched in the doorway and stared at his angel, who was fervently pouring over a piece of paperwork that probably wasn’t very important.

Crowley didn’t want to speak, so instead he cleared his throat. Aziraphale jumped, whirling around in his chair. When his eyes landed on Crowley, he softened, standing up hastily and rushing over to him, pulling him down into a tight hug.

Crowley melted into it, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s golden curls and breathing him in, feeling the faint sense of his halo.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. He started to pull away from him, but Crowley wouldn’t let go, so Aziraphale held him for as long as he needed.

“You had me worried,” Aziraphale said; he rubbed the spot on his back between where his wings would be, and Crowley whimpered. He hated the noise.

“Where have you been?” Aziraphale asked. “You’re not warm. How long have you been back, my dear?”

Crowley didn’t answer him. Finally, Aziraphale pulled away from him, still holding him close, looking up at him. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

Crowley laughed; then, upon hearing himself, he cut the sound short, pressing his mouth into a thin line. Aziraphale looked at him strangely, and Crowley looked down and glared at the floor. Aziraphale breathed a sound that might have been his lover’s name, but it was too quiet of a noise to tell; he reached up and removed Crowley’s glasses, revealing his yellow eyes, which were brimming with tears.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said softly, holding him tightly. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Crowley laughed again, this time letting the noise play out in its entirety before he bit his lip and smiled bitterly at the ground. “Look at me, angel.”

Aziraphale looked him up and down. “What about you?”

Crowley scoffed. “Look at the _body_ they’ve given me,” he said bitterly. “Listen to my _voice_.”

“You sound fine to me,” Aziraphale said.

“It’s wrong!” Crowley snapped, pulling away from him. “I bothered people for _months_ trying to get my body back and _this_ is what they gave me!”

“Crowley, you look fine!” Aziraphale assured him.

“I don’t want to look fine!” Crowley shouted. “I want my body back! I hate this one! It’s—it’s _wrong._ It’s horrible, Aziraphale, everything just feels _wrong._ I’m… I don’t belong in this body, I’m… I’m a _man_.”

Crowley waited for Aziraphale to correct him; remind him that he’s a _demon,_ and therefore wasn’t bound to a gender. Instead, Aziraphale regarded him quietly and said, “Alright. So you are.”

Crowley clenched and unclenched his fists. “I have to go back to Hell.”

Aziraphale looked crestfallen. “Why?”

“Because!” Crowley exclaimed. “I can’t live in this body, angel! I have to get my old one back. We both like that one well enough.”

“Well, I like this one, too,” Aziraphale assured him.

“Well, I don’t!” Crowley snapped. “I hate it! And I’m going down to Hell to get my old one, don’t even think about trying to stop me.”

Aziraphale hesitated. “I won’t.”

Crowley let out a relieved sigh. Aziraphale continued. “But I’ll miss you. You’ve been gone so long.”

Crowley looked down at the ground. “I know, angel,” he said quietly. “Kept thinking about South Downs.”

Aziraphale softened, a gentle smile on his lips. “It’s ours yet, my dear,” he said. “It’ll be waiting for us.”

“Don’t wait up for me,” Crowley said. “I’ll meet you down there.”

“How on earth am I supposed to get any of your silly houseplants down there?” Aziraphale asked with a smile. “Or my books? I can’t drive.”

He laughed softly, and Crowley surged forward and grabbed his face with his hands, pulling him up into a kiss. Aziraphale made a startled noise, but returned it nonetheless, humming happily as Crowley snaked his arms over his shoulders to pull him close.

Crowley broke the kiss, flustered. “Ah—” he said, trying to shuffle away. “No, I’m… I’m sure you don’t want to kiss me right now, I—”

Aziraphale pulled him back down roughly. He held Crowley close, coaxing him into an open-mouthed kiss until Crowley was a whining mess leaning against him. They stayed that way for a long time, seeing as neither of them needed to breathe; when they finally broke the kiss, though, both of them were panting.

“I always want to kiss you,”Aziraphale said breathlessly.

Crowley whined. “Oh, that’s not fair, angel,” he said quietly. “You get me all strung out and I can’t even do anything about it. You’re supposed to be the team player here. You’re supposed to play fair.”

“Oh, but I never do,” Aziraphale said quietly, so close to Crowley their lips brushed together when he spoke. “You should know that by now, my dear.”

Crowley hummed. “You’re a right bastard, you are.”

“So you always say,” Aziraphale said sweetly. “Are you going back down… right now?”

Crowley hesitated, still leaned against Aziraphale. “Maybe not… _right_ now.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Will you stay the night?”

Crowley was quiet for a long time, not looking at him. His gaze flickered across the ground as he thought, and then finally he smiled thinly. “No.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

“No,” Crowley repeated; he took Aziraphale’s hand and led him back into the shop. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“South Downs.”

“What, now?”

“Why not?” Crowley asked. “Come on, angel, we’ll take your books and my plants to South Downs and spend the night, and in the morning I’ll drive back up to London and go lobby for my body back, and then I’ll meet you back at the cottage.”

“Crowley, there’s no furniture out there, and we can’t move anything of the like in your car,” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley stopped in front of the counter and pulled Aziraphale into a kiss. “We can sleep in the Bentley.”

“Where will I sleep when you’re gone?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’ll drive you back up with me,” Crowley promised. “I just want to see it, angel. I need it fresh in my mind before I go back down there.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Alright, dear boy,” he said, which made Crowley feel much better. Not great, but better. “We can take some of my books down, but not your plants. They need to stay here so I can look after them.”

“About that,” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes, “you’re watering them too much. Clearly only one of us has a green thumb, and it’s not you.”

“Well, at least I’m not insulting them!”

“No, you’re just drowning them.”

“Well I didn’t exactly have time to take notes from you.”

The conversation continues as they load boxes into the backseat of the Bentley. “You’ve known me long enough, angel. Surely you’ve picked up on my gardening techniques by now?”

“I don’t consider your ‘gardening techniques’ the most interesting thing about you, dear boy.”

Crowley flashed him a wicked grin, letting his fangs out. “What is the most interesting thing about me?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, entirely unaffected. “Put those away. Unless you plan on using them?”

Crowley made a frustrated noise and shut his mouth, turning away so Aziraphale couldn’t see him pout.

Sliding into the driver's seat felt good; his hands settled on the steering wheel automatically, in the same spot they always did. Crowley liked keeping the Bentley pristine, but there were still two little spots on the steering wheel that were worn where his hands always settled. It made the car feel snug.

He got distracted for a moment, focused on his hands perched on the steering wheel, and he almost lost himself down another rabbit hole of scrutinizing this body, but he was startled out of it by the sharp _click_ of Aziraphale bucking his seatbelt.

Crowley looked at him and huffed. “Angel, it’s not supposed to have seatbelts.”

“Oh, isn’t it?”

“It was built in 1926.”

“Well, then it shouldn’t have a tape deck, either, should it?”

Crowley tried and failed to suppress the smug smile on his face. Aziraphale took the liberty of plucking a tape out of the collection, not bothering to check what it used to be. They were all _Best of Queen_ by now.

“Two hour drive, if I remember correctly,” Crowley said, starting the engine with a wave of his hand. “Bet I can make it an hour and a half.”

“No lessons learned from the last time?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley scoffed as they peeled away from the curb and he shot off. “Discorporation would be welcomed right about now.”

“Well, maybe for you, but not for me,” Aziraphale said. “I’d like to make it down there in one piece, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley said sweetly. He was going far over the speed limit.

“Never understood why they implemented those,” Crowley said once they were out of the city.

“Implemented what?” Aziraphale asked.

“Speed limits,” Crowley said. “Who’s to say how fast I can go? Especially out here in the open. Nobody to even hit.”

“If I recall correctly,” Aziraphale said, “a car made in 1926 shouldn’t even be able to go this fast.”

“What do you know about cars?” Crowley asked with a sly grin.

“Admittedly, not much,” Aziraphale said. “You have all the expertise in that area, my dear.”

“Damn straight.”

They lapsed into silence.

“How fast do you reckon I _could_ go?” Crowley asked quickly.

“I’m certain you’ve already put a number on it,” Aziraphale said. “How fast you can go in this old thing without damaging it.”

Crowley tapped a finger irritably on the steering wheel. “Two-hundred*.”

Aziraphale actually looked impressed, but he didn’t comment. There was another long moment of silence, and this time Crowley couldn’t think of anything to say. Six-thousand years exhausted a lot of conversation topics.

“Talk,” Crowley said.

“Huh?”

“Talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“Why?”

“My mind’s wandering,” Crowley said lowly. “Talk about something. Distract me.”

Aziraphale hummed. “I went to see a play.”

“Oh, yeah?” Crowley said. “Which?”

“ _An Ideal Husband_.”

Crowley scowled. “Talk about anything else.”

Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley blushed at the sound. Quietly, he said, “You’re my ideal husband.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale asked, not having heard him.

“Nothing,” Crowley said quickly. “Nothing. Tell me about _An Ideal Husband_.”

“Well, he’s currently driving a 1926 Bentley.”

Crowley blushed fiercely, sinking down in his seat a bit. “Bastard. You just stole my bit.”

Aziraphale smiled and reached over, squeezing Crowley’s thigh. He kept Crowley talking for the majority of the drive.

The cottage was quaint, exactly as Crowley remembered it being, except the old furniture neither of them could stand had been removed. It looked as though it had been cleaned at some point, but another layer of dust had settled. It was hard to tell which one of them miracled it away as they carried the boxes inside.

“Don’t unpack them,” Aziraphale instructed him. “I’ll sort all that out at a later date. I’d say we need to put in some shelves, yes?”

Crowley grunted in response, shoving the boxes neatly into the corner. “That’s the last of them.”

“What time is it?”

Crowley hadn’t put his watch on this morning, but when he pulled his wrist up to check, it was there. “Nearly three.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Do you want to go explore the town? We can start on finding a restaurant to frequent.”

Crowley grunted again; he sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. “Maybe.”

Aziraphale watched him silently. Finally, Crowley added, “Maybe you can go alone.”

“I can’t drive, my dear,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Hm. Let’s go somewhere uncrowded.”

“Sure.”

Crowley grunted in acknowledgment, but didn’t move from his spot; instead, he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Aziraphale watched him for a long moment, then leaned against the wall and sat down next to him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Crowley scowled. “I hate this.”

“You were doing alright there for a bit,” Aziraphale said hopefully.

“Different with you,” Crowley mumbled. “You’ve known me for six thousand years. You’ve known me since I was a snake. Named Crawley. You’re the only one who doesn’t _still_ call me Crawley. You’re the only one who hasn’t told me I’m not tethered to a gender. Most humans have differing opinions.”

Aziraphale hummed. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to be seen, my dear.”

Crowley turned his head to look at him; he looked bored, but then Aziraphale pulled his glasses off to reveal eyes with an unmistakable pleading look about them. He set the glasses on the floor, scooting closer to the demon until their thighs brushed together, and then he wrapped an arm around Crowley’s waist.

“We can do whatever you like, my dear,” he said gently.

Crowley moved his hand from his waist to his shoulder and leaned against him. “Just like to be held right now, thanks.”

Aziraphale obliged him silently. They stayed like that for a long time, or maybe it was only a few moments. Either way, they were both contented to stay there, slotted against each other. Fleetingly, Crowley thought that he hated how he still fit perfectly against his angel, even in this body that could never truly be his, but he quickly shoved the thought away. Any way he could fit against Aziraphale couldn’t have been all terrible, and although it didn’t make him feel much better about the situation, it put him at ease enough to doze off leaning against him.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley stirred; the light in the room had shifted from afternoon to what looked like the start of evening. He hummed in acknowledgment, still leaning against his lover’s shoulder.

“Crowley, you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned lazily. “I can always sleep, angel,” he said. “Anytime. For as long as I want. Especially if you’re there to hold me.”

It took him a long moment for the tenderness of what he’d just said to sink in, and when it did he sat up and cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn’t look directly at Aziraphale, who was grinning at him fondly.

“So, er,” Crowley said. “Did you want to go out to the car?”

Aziraphale adopted a more concerned look. “I really don’t think we’re going to be able to sleep in your car.”

“We’ve done _other_ things in my car,” Crowley pointed out smugly.

“Well, sure,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley had to admit he was slightly disappointed when the angel didn’t grow flustered at all. “But we’ve never _slept_ in your car.”

“If we can have sex in the Bentley, we can sleep there.”

“Maybe we’ll have to put down the passenger seat.”

“Angel, it can’t _do_ that.”

“Why not? If it has a tape deck and seatbelts.”

“Those are minor. The passenger and driver seats are connected, I can’t just decide to lay one of them down for the night. We can sleep in the back seat.”

“Dear boy, you won’t _fit_ in the back seat.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“You can’t lay in the back with those long legs of yours, you won’t fit. Unless you roll the window down and stick them out.”

Crowley pulled a face, and Aziraphale chuckled, so he shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “Really, angel, sometimes I think you _like_ making me look like an idiot.”

“Well, I do like seeing you flustered,” Aziraphale admitted, then grinned when Crowley blushed. “Yes, just like that.”

“Bastard,” Crowley muttered, with just a hint of affection.

“Well, what else would you suggest, besides dangling your feet out the window?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hummed, pensive, but then he sat up a little straighter. Aziraphale looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Sssometimesss I’m sssuch an idiot,” Crowley said.

“Why for?” Aziraphale asked, and he was about to inquire about Crowley’s hissing, too, but he quickly discarded that question when he found himself sitting next to a snake.

Aziraphale looked concerned. “Aren’t you always frightened of forgetting how to change back?”

“Not into _that_ body,” Crowley said bitterly. “Thisss is much better. No dysssphoria to ssspeak of. I can’t believe I didn’t think of thisss before.”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Aziraphale said; he tried not to shudder as Crowley slithered up onto his arm.

“I should jussst get dissscorporated like thisss,” Crowley said as Aziraphale stood. “Make thingsss easssier.”

“And how would I get back to London?” Aziraphale asked.

“You have two perfectly good wingsss,” Crowley teased.

Crowley curled up on Aziraphale’s belly and dozed off almost immediately in the back seat of the Bentley, clearly content. Aziraphale watched him for a while; he was all coiled up, his eyes wide open, but he knew better than to assume he was awake. Crowley hardly ever closed his eyes even when he had eyelids.

At some point, Aziraphale dozed off, as well. He normally didn’t indulge in sleep, and he especially hadn’t in the past few months with Crowley’s absence, but having him near did certainly make it easier to succumb to the task. Crowley hadn’t tempted him; no, he never suggested the angel join him, because if Aziraphale agreed he wouldn’t exactly be doing a very good job at thwarting, would he? No, normally Crowley would yawn and nod off, and Aziraphale would join him without being prompted. It was hardly ever a matter of whether he wanted to sleep, but whether he wanted to stay in bed with Crowley. Sleeping while doing so just happened to be convenient.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure when he dozed off, but he woke with a crick in his neck and no snake in the backseat with him. He sat up wearily, looking around to see if Crowley had fallen in the night, but he was startled when he spoke from the front seat. “Oh, good. You’re up.”

Crowley was back in his body—well, not _his_ body—and he didn’t look too happy about it. Aziraphale sat up fully, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is it?”

Crowley checked his watch. “A little before eight.”

“It’s not yet eight,” Aziraphale mused, “and you woke up voluntarily?”

Crowley scowled. “Sun woke me,” he said vaguely. “Hard to block it out when I can’t shut my eyes.”

“Turns out you can’t sleep forever,” Aziraphale said, amused.

Crowley nodded to the passenger seat. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive us back to London.”

Back at the shop, Crowley gave his plants a good fright, since he assumed they’d grown quite accustomed to Aziraphale’s doting and drowning. Aziraphale watched him, silently and fondly, although he disagreed with his plant keeping methods. Finally, once Crowley had made all his rounds, he hovered awkwardly by the counter, drumming his fingers against the wood.

“Well,” he said. “I guess I’ll be going, then.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, with the patience of someone who knew when something was necessary.

Crowley sniffed indignantly. “Do try not to cry, angel. I know you’re sad to see me go, but no waterworks, please.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I don’t see how you’ll have any problem annoying your way back into your old body.”

“Hey,” Crowley said, mockingly offended. “I’m charming.”

“You’re certainly something,” Aziraphale said. “And I am going to miss you. But we’ve said goodbye plenty of times. I know you’re coming back.”

Crowley softened; he didn’t want to point out that no, maybe he wouldn’t be. He knew it; in the back of his mind, it terrified him, spending the rest of eternity in Hell. He’d worked so hard to keep his life on Earth intact, only to discorporate himself in an automobile accident and maybe ruin the rest of forever. But Aziraphale was calm; he seemed to genuinely believe Crowley would be able to bother his way back into his old body. And that was encouraging, at least. It was grounding, as Aziraphale always was.

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly. “I’ll be back.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, then hesitated for a long moment.

Finally, he said, with much more confidence than he felt, “I love you.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I love you, too.”

Crowley left the bookshop. He obeyed the speed limit all the way back to his flat, where he was then inconveniently discorporated.

**Author's Note:**

> *kph, not mph.


End file.
